


Starlost

by Gecko47 (orphan_account)



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, But Also Hopeful?, Cruelty, Dark, Everyone is suffering, Heavy Angst, I haven't read the books in ages so whOOPS, Lionblaze is a killer, Please Don't Kill Me, Starvation, Violence, based off of the 'It's Alright' warriors map, basically the three are all cursed, characters act like the fandom portrays them, dovewing can hear literally everything and it drives her mad, jayfeather is overwhelmed by the thoughts/feelings of other cats, more or less everyone else is dead, ofc slightly, this is fueled by angsty map parts moonkitti videos and other madness, this is just straight up gore, this is so edgy someone stop me, time to watch fictional cats suffer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27369025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Gecko47
Summary: Inspired off of the MAP 'It's Alright' ...The Three are cursed in the most horrible ways, and soon, the rest of Thunderclan begins to crumble around them. Warriors, queens, elders, kits - all victims of the One's wrath and mighty claws. Only a select few manage to escape. And now they wait in terrified clusters, praying and pleading to their ancestors for this nightmare to end. However, the only star light that shines down on them is cold and cruel...
Comments: 48
Kudos: 53





	1. Ties

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired off of an AU featured in this map: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1xcRDQRCLeM by Sweetfrost  
> Original idea/concept/comic created by Razmerry:  
> PMV - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0ATchb9OZU  
> Speed Paint - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BIIHI1RpU0  
> Comic - https://www.deviantart.com/razmerry/art/Dovewing-s-Silence-841035683
> 
> Although this story takes heavy inspiration from these sources, it is noticeably a little more hopeful than its predecessor. I am not trying to 'fix' the story (I think it's horrifically perfect as it is haha) this is just where the inspiration took me. Characters will meet up, form alliances, and try to work together. Plus if they're all suffering, their respective traumas can bounce off each other.
> 
> ALSO- this book is not trying to function as a clinically correct story about insanity, sensory overload, or psychopaths. The Three's crazed nature comes from their powers, not mental disorders. Words like 'crazy' and 'insane' may be thrown around, but I won't be depicting anything in a realistic way. It is used solely for drama. Thank you for reading.

Somewhere deep beneath the earth, where not even Starclan dared to venture, a black-furred molly was hunched over, tail around her paws, head angled up at the packed dirt ceiling of the tunnel. She was praying for her ancestors, for her lost friends, for anyone willing to guide her. Her mouth barely moved. Her words wavered, doubtful and hoarse. She had been talking for ages and no one - at least to her knowledge - could hear her.

But one could. The whispers of the dark molly rose up through the layers of dirt and sank into the curled cloud-gray body of another molly. Trembling, claws flexing, eyes wide and bloodshot, the little gray cat was giving a prayer of her own. _Please, let the creator of those terrible muffled whispers die already...and leave me in peace._ But she of all cats knew prayers didn't mean a thing. So, with silent resolve, her stained claws slide out and she brought them up to her round, soft, cursed little ears.

And as the little gray molly ripped off her chains, another cat spasmed in his nest. His throat was too damaged to scream, but he twisted and thrashed in agony, pawing his own ears. They were still intact, still there, but hurting like they had been torn clean from his skull. He had felt so many - too many - pains such as these, and he still wasn't used to it. Their ghosts clung to his shaken, emaciated body as he lay here, in what might've once been the Elders' Den. All that was left was his faded tabby fur, jutting bones, and scared, sightless eyes. Was it his own fear that gripped him, or that of another? He didn't know.

It wasn't, or at least not only. The forest had once been swarmed with terrified cats, but now only a mere few others were clinging to life. One, a molly with a ginger pelt that had lost its luster, was arched. Terror held her tighter than any fox trap. Teeth locked her throat and the weight of a badger, no, of a monster, no, of the entire Silver Pelt, came crashing down onto brittle bones. She knew - she hadn't felt this way since the long journey many moons ago. Now she knew - a connection had been severed in the most brutal way. Her hackles fell and she dropped to the ground, sobbing alone into the forest floor.

And farther into the ruins of the camp, past the black molly's pleading, the little gray's hysterical laughter, the shaking painful rasps of the blind tom, and the mournful cries of the ginger she, roamed a beast that had once had a name. His latest victim once had a name too - in fact, perhaps he would've once called her his mother. Now she was collecting flies. Crowfood and rot, that's what he brought. But he would not stop. Hated by the Stars Themselves, he would continue forward until the forest was as quiet as his own shrouded, broken spirit.

Yet deeper, another tom - this one burnt so badly he was almost ashes - pulled himself from the river. He sensed danger coming uphill - a rotting, musky, bloody stench that made his remaining fur prickle. Then, he hurried off at a half-limping gait, back into the woods. Though he deserved it more than any of the other victims, he would not allow himself to die.

And finally, urged by a voice older than any, a lithe silver she-cat stopped at the base of a pile of disturbed soil. Paused. Sniffed. Perked her tattered ears. Then, she dipped her head and began to dig...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter half split between Hollyleaf and Dovewing.

The Thunderclan camp was a tortoiseshell of bloodstains, smearing the stone a rusty brown and filling the surrounding area with a dense layer of rot-stench.

It was quiet, mostly.

The irregular, shuddering gasps of breath carrying from the elder's den told a different story, but with a cold satisfaction, she knew they would be gone soon. Every heave was weaker than the last, but they still sounded like two mountains scraping together. However she was a small price compared to the constant echoing shriek she had grown used to. She could manage, and if she couldn't, she'd put that poor creature down for good.

She.

The cloud-gray cat was now almost tinted pink, especially around the root of what had once been her soft little ears.

Her name was Dovepaw, but if anyone took the effort to mouth those words directly at her, the pain would crescendo to an unbearable agony. Maybe it was a blessing there was no one here to refer to her, to break what little stability she had managed to scrap together.

Heavy footsteps spoke of other things.

They rattled through the soil like the whole forest was coming to life. Dovepaw took a sharp intake of break that sliced through her temple (not even her own sounds were safe) and backed up. Her fluffy, stained fur was arched on end even after she recognized the cat marching towards her.

First came his tremendous pulsing heart whose beat would not be contained in the cage of his chest. With each movement, his bones clicked, swollen muscles shuddered, and veins hummed. Blood dripped from his muzzle and hit the stone with a resounding slap. His breathing was deep and thick with purrs, perhaps to release the stress of the hunt. It was a low, gravely sound, like the rumble of a monster. She knew instantly: he was a walking cacophony of death.

He dropped a fresh piece of meat on the stone with a wet splat. It was half caved in and so sticky with red, its pelt color was undetectable, but it was very obviously the decapitated head of a warrior. Its white teeth were still bared in a final snarl.

Flies fed on its flesh with slight buzzes and pops, a roar to Dovepaw. She brought her paws over her ear-cavities, smothering a small, pained mew in the back of her throat.

He - the monster that had once had a name - brought his tongue over his stained golden chest. It sounded like he was ripping entire trees from their roots. But - at least he didn't try to talk to her. He didn't talk and he took care of the other...problems. Her gaze flickered to the patterns of blood, then back up to him. She slowly lowered her paws - the noise wasn't too awful, really.

Maybe he wasn't such bad company after all.

* * *

Right when Hollyleaf's voice had given out and she was beginning to consider simply succumbing to the darkness of the tunnel, she sensed another presence beside her.

She felt him before she saw him - his short pelt whisking past her face. It glowed, oddly enough, so she could make out the ginger patches amount the white. Like the ground during leaf fall, half covered in a layer of early snow. Pure and untouched by scars or wounds.

"Come on," he whispered. His voice was gentle but melancholy, a lonesome little murmur that almost sent her weeping. They had came! Her warrior ancestors weren't so cruel that they'd just let her die in a hole...though they were cruel enough for other wicked tricks.

At that realization, her tears dried and she dipped her head, padding after his retreating dappled back.

They traveled through tunnels she didn't even know existed, almost as if they were being carved out of the dark only for them. Some were barely more than rabbit burrows, suffocatingly thin, while she sensed others continued on her sides and above her for many fox lengths.

Why hadn't she explored while she had been trapped?

Hollyleaf decided it was because she was worried she would get too lost and never find her way out.

Finally, she felt their pathway go up in a vertical climb. The scents of the outside world were growing closer - they weren't pleasant. Metallic blood and the cold crispness of an early leafbare - but at least they were better than the nothingness of the tunnels.

She wasn't sure where her guide went. One second he was clearly in the center of her sight, padding along, the next he had vanished and she nearly collided with a dirt wall. She yelped and whirled around, "Huh?"

Hollyleaf suppressed her panic as she turned around in a circle, hoping to bump into him with her tail. Nothing, the air was all empty. "HEY?" She called, her heart starting to pound. "ARE YOU THERE?"

Instantly the tunnel dropped several degrees, as if to say 'hush.'

Be quiet.

And listen.

Never the kind to ignore a sign from Starclan, she snapped her jaws shut and swiveled around her ears. It took a second, but her efforts were not in vain. There was no doubt in it - past the dirt wall was the familiar scuffling sound of little paws in the dirt. Someone was digging to her!

Hollyleaf had dived into the wall before she could even process what this meant. Her claws sank into the soil and threw it over her shoulder in a frenzy. The thought of freedom blazed brighter than any fire.

It took a little while, but time seemed to blend together. Finally, the wall grew weak and brittle. The roof caved in and a ray of dazzling sunlight warmed her filthy, black pelt. It seemed like moons since she'd last felt something so warm.

Hollyleaf shook herself off and pushed through the little hole. Everything was so bright, it took a moment for her pupils to contract and her eyes to adjust.

And in the way of the sun, casting a shadow forward, was her savior: a slight, white and silver tabby she with tattered ears and a narrow face. For a second, her form flickered and Hollyleaf could've sworn there were two pale she cats in front of her, but the mirage vanished as the tabby surged forward.

"Ivypaw?" Hollyleaf's heart began to lift. This was someone she recognized! Maybe Thunderclan wasn't all dead - maybe they could rebuild. They were warriors after all, weren't they?

"Thanks for the help," Ivypaw replied in a darker, tighter tone, "let's reseal the entrance. These tunnels might be the only safe place to hide."

"What do you mean?" Hollyleaf faltered. She lashed her tail. She had only just escaped, now this apprentice wanted in?

"You know what I mean!" Ivypaw tried to push past her and reach the safety of the tunnels. She made it and stopped in the darkness, a little pale figure silhouetted in black. She lowered her gaze and hissed over her shoulder, "There's a monster out here...get back in before it's too late for you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A segment on Hollyleaf and Squirrelflight, then one on the GHOST CATS. Also Jayfeather (JayCry? JayPaw?)

"Lionblaze."

The name hung in the air for a few heartbeats, almost as palpable as the stench of rot. Hollyleaf felt the fur along her spine prickle uncomfortably as Ivypaw's unwavering stare bore into her.

"I know." She murmured.

Ivypaw only sighed and looked away, "You're his sister. I of all cats should understand what it's like." For a second, her face shifted and Hollyleaf realized just how young the silver molly really was. It didn't take powers to notice how scared and uncertain she felt - barely more than a kit, crouched in the dark of the tunnel, already experiencing life as she knew it falling to pieces. Then her wall of ice came back up and she only frowned, "If you must, go to him. But when he's chasing after you, don't lead him here."

"I won't." Hollyleaf said with a pang of her old determination. _This is the best way to serve the clan. I'm his sister, maybe I can calm him down._ She raised her head. Warmth and illumination filled her with a strength she thought she lost. "I'll find your sister too. Dovepaw, was it?" She added.

Ivypaw threw a shocked, wide-eyed look over her shoulder and Hollyleaf dipped her head, before turning and rushing off through the forest.

* * *

The slope of the hill finally leveled into a sheet of water. The lake was lonesomely quiet in the afternoon light, but at least here there was a break from the rot.

Hollyleaf steeled herself and after taking a few much needed gulps of icy water, turned back on the reek. She marched towards where she knew the clan camp had been.

Her senses were on high alert - every snap of twigs, every flutter of birds was a signal of another cat, and a potential threat. Her brother could be stalking her at this very moment - no, she didn't think he was stealthy enough for that. Not to mention, he wouldn't kill her.

Would he?

She had fled into the tunnels before things go too bad - at least from what she remembered. Perhaps she had been suppressing it.

She scrabbled up a small stack of rocks and finally allowed herself to slip into the past, if only for a few minutes as she gathered herself together.

_Her escape had been a crashing, wild race through the night, but before that, she recalled she had been in her nest, in the warriors den, pressed up in the corner near the half-leaking roof because no one else had wanted that spot. Something had jostled her, waking her up._

_'What is it this time?' she had thought._

_Then, there was a crack, like someone snapping a thick stick in two._

_Even before the scream, the animalistic part of her had her up on her feet. She had blinked sleep out of her eyes, only catching a small glimpse of the figure in the entranceway. His pelt was stained, his eyes shadowed, his snout dripping with_ something _as he waded through the bodies- some dead, some blissfully asleep._

_His golden eyes locked with hers and suddenly a terrible, shrill caterwaul split the camp._

_His victims had been fast asleep. They didn't feel their own deaths._

_But someone in Thunderclan had._

Hollyleaf snapped out of it. She didn't want to recall the desperate race through the trees that followed, didn't want to fall into her barely contained sea of panic. She had to be strong, she had to be rational, for the sake of Thunderclan, and for everything remaining of it.

Staggering on her perch, Hollyleaf made up her mind. She couldn't do it. She couldn't make herself go back. There were cats in there who might die because of her cowardice, but she simply could not do it.

 _I don't want to die. I don't want to meet those heartless golden eyes again._ She swallowed, trying to force herself to purr to relieve stress. It didn't work very well, all she got was a weak, rumbling that felt like someone was twisting her heart around.

In the corner of her eye, something ginger flashed. Hollyleaf instantly stopped and whirled around, her back arched. "Who goes there!" She hissed, setting off a nearby blackbird.

For a second she feared it was him, but then changed her mind. Unless his cursed powers included shapeshifting, there was no way her deranged brother would be here.

Instead, the cat was a small, red-ginger molly with a fluffy tail curled around her paws. Achingly familiar, so sad eyes locked with Hollyleaf and she almost buckled and fell off the rock.

She knew this cat, but for once, seeing her didn't trigger anger or rage or betrayal.

Her back lowered and she slunk down, colliding with the ginger she: her adopted mother, her aunt, perhaps one of the last remnants of her clan.

"You're alive!" Squirrelflight exclaimed as Hollyleaf rubbed against her.

She smelled woodsy, a little like Thunderclan's camp before...before the attack. Hollyleaf buried her face in the warm, ginger fur, not sure if she was sobbing or purring or some tragically relieved version of both. Squirrelflight rested her head over her daughter's shoulder and let her cry.

Hollyleaf wanted to go home, more than anything, and now that that wound was open, there wasn't a medicine cat alive who could fix it.

* * *

There were two spirits lingering on either side of the nest, looking down at its contents with uncertainty. Inside, a thin gray tom was breathing slowly, whether alive, asleep, or half dead, they weren't sure.

The two glanced at each other.

One was a beautiful, stocky white molly.

The other had a wrinkled bald body, covered with lumps and patches of brown skin.

It was hard to tell which one of them was older.

"Oh my poor Jay's Wing. How could they do this to you?" Murmured the she-cat, her eyes clouded.

The hairless flicked one deformed ear. "He's not Jay's Wing. That cat died a long time ago. And this one- went much more recently."

The body gave a shudder and curled his striped tail over his muzzle, blind eyes half open. A spiders web of bulging, bloodshot veins.

"He's not dead," the she cat affirmed as he closed his eyes again, "If he was, why would I be here instead of roaming the territories of the Tribe of Endless Hunting?"

"Ah. Good for you, aligning yourself with the lesser of two evils," the hairless said unkindly. The she looked indignant for a half second, before sighing.

"Anyway. I'm tailing one of the other survivors, but it's not going as well as I planned. What are we going to do?" She asked her companion, "Rock?"

"Wait until the Starclan's cursed three die already, kill everyone, or somehow become un-cursed. There's not much we CAN do," he grumbled.

She frowned, "Why would they do such a terrible thing in the first place?"

"To punish," Rock flicked his rat-like tail, "to prove a point."

"How petty."

"They're just cats."

"Well- so are the three. So is HE," she flared, waving a white paw at the pitiful, emaciated body. "If I went all the way to the mountains for _this_ future...then I regret it all."

"Don't say that."

"I do say it."

Rock sighed, returning his blind gaze downwards. "I expected better from the first Stoneteller."

"My name is Half Moon."

There was a pause. Half Moon washed her paw, then started to use it to clean off the body's narrow face. He obviously hadn't groomed in a while- it was almost instinctive. But even though he couldn't see, he flinched away from her reach and buried his face in the moss, giving a long sigh.

Half Moon felt a pang of sadness. She recalled the past vividly - some of the happiest moments of her existence were there. Jay's Wing and her - they had been softpaws together, friends, more than that. His actions had shaped the world she built - but if this was the residence of his soul now - or if this had always been what he really was, deep in his heart...

"So...the past..."

"Jay's Wing would have existed whether or not this one survived." Rock replied, almost reading her mind. Or perhaps he had.

She nodded, then sighed, giving up on trying to wash away his tears.

"So what was Jay's Wing to him?"

Rock dipped his head to the body. The gray tom had calmed down - now he was asleep - his only natural form of respite.

"A good dream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was emotional  
> hope you enjoyed it!


	4. -Leaves-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squirrelflight and Hollyleaf have an awkward interaction about some secrets.
> 
> Ashfur (EYYYY ASHFUR) has a small segment to himself that I thought was neat.

The two finally broke apart after what felt like seasons. Squirrelfight looked up at the coppering branches and Hollyleaf became preoccupied with a few of the pebbles clustered at her paws. They were both giving the other she cat chance to dry their eyes and compose themselves.

At last, Hollyleaf sighed and shook her pelt. The blaze of happiness and nostalgic energy she had experienced when she first found Squirrelflight had vanished, leaving her feeling burnt and over exposed.

"Are you alright?" She could already feeling her adopted mother checking her for wounds. Squirrelflight did not miss the slight gash on her upper back - Hollyleaf could feel the question forming, and before she could speak it, she burst out:

"We're hiding in a cave- er - me and an apprentice. Part of the roof caved in when I entered it, but I'm fine now. Point is - it's safe. Do you want to come hide there with us?"

Those words came out in a rush. Hollyleaf flinched at how desperate she sounded. However, better to get it all out than to waste time with small talk while a cursed killer stalked them from the bushes. She glanced over her shoulder, checking to make sure they weren't being watched.

The brambles around them were free of bloodshot golden eyes. Thank Starclan.

Squirrelflight was already on her paws. "I do. If we have a safe place, maybe we can rebuild-"

_As well as two warriors and an apprentice CAN rebuild an entire clan._

"-but there was someone I was looking for," Squirrelflight added, taking Hollyleaf by surprise.

"Oh? A clanmate?" _Maybe our group won't be as pitiful as I thought-_

"...Yes...but they're gone." 

The dip in her voice made Hollyleaf flinch. She had never been particularly good with emotions, but part of her was worried that Squirrelflight might suddenly rush forward and start crying into _her_ pelt. Not that that would be a problem - no - no, after that pathetic display of grief earlier, Hollyleaf doubted she could ever regain the cold aloofness she used to wear in the presence of her adopted mother.

The pain in Squirrelflights eyes was even more concerning. Hollyleaf tilted her head, anxiety spreading in her chest like a spider rapidly spinning thread between her ribs, then pulling on the strings until she felt like she might cave in. "Who was it?"

Squirrelflight finally inhaled sharply, and looked up. "Leafpool is dead."

There was a stabbing feeling through Hollyleaf's chest, a moment of cycling through her thoughts: _wait, no, she's a medicine cat, why is she dead? Did she attack him? Did he seek her out? Why wasn't starclan there to protect her-_

"I-I never told you this," Squirrelflight's voice was weak and strained as her lip quirked up in an involuntary smile. "But- you still want to know who your real mother is, right?"

Hollyleaf felt her body tense, her chest clench. "Yes. Who is she?"

Squirrelflight's gaze said it all.

She swallowed thickly, feeling oddly hollow and breathless. "My mother...was Leafpool."

_A medicine cat, a code breaker, a mentor even...and now, a dead cat._

* * *

He followed the bitterly sweet scent farther than he would have otherwise chosen to. It presented a sense of distant happiness, nostalgia, and lost love, before whisking it all away in a torrent of betrayal and an ache for revenge.

It wasn't something he typically indulged in anymore, these feelings or memories. Then why had he followed the scent trail?

Ashfur turned around in the clearing, squinting and trying to figure out which path would be safest. Trees flashed around him, tall enough to blot out the rapidly sinking sun. He was not going to be lured to his death by a brainless walk-in-the-direction-of-the-most-familiar-not-dangerous-scent instinct, that was certain.

Instead, something else pulled at his muzzle and he found himself glaring into a thick screen of ferns.

Perhaps it had been the taste in the air of a long gone love, or just the scent of something awfully _similar_ to her. Something that, above all the harsh memories, reeked of death and decay.

He checked his surroundings, before limping after it. He had to be careful- unlike other cats, he wasn't very fast anymore.

Ashfur's left back leg had never been the same since that cursed brute Lionpaw (unworthy of a warrior name, especially not from his former mentor) grabbed him by the scruff and threw him into the fire-filled Thunderclan camp on that oh so important stormy night. If he recalled right, his femur had split right through his skin. Better it than his neck, though.

With flames mauling his speckled gray pelt, he had dragged himself out somehow, to freedom. His back leg had never healed. Days later, when he was curled up in a hollow trunk, the pain and threat of infection polluted his mind until he finally snapped and gnawed the useless thing off.

Three paws and burnt patches of exposed skin along his belly and back, he supposed he was lucky to be alive.

Unlike some cats.

Ashfur stopped and dropped to his haunches, his eyes clouding. There, curled amid a patch of dandelions and fallen leaves, was a tabby she with a flash of white on her chest and a bloody bite crushing her neck. Obviously long gone. A red leaf from above had drifted down some time ago and covered one of her shut eyes.

He lingered there for a moment, glancing down at this relic of the old clan. The medicine cat, Leafpool. The same medicine cat he had-

A stab of guilt - something he hadn't experienced in a while - throbbed between his ribs. Ashfur hobbled forward and leaned down. He thought for a moment, considering moving the leaf off her eye, then picked up a new one and settled it on the other side of her face. It was amber and vaguely in the shape of a claw.

He kept collecting them, laying them over her pale muzzle, then her soft ears, then over her massive wound. It looked more like a dog bite than something a cat should be able to do, but Lionpaw's scent lingered over her like a cloud. Funny, there was no blood on her own claws or her face. She must not have fought back, even as she was killed.

"Sorry," he said when her entire tabby body was covered with dry leaves. He wasn't sure why he did it. Sure, she was Squirrelflight's sister, therefore a tool for his lost love's potential suffering, but she was also a loyal clan mate. And-

"I wouldn't have survived these burns or my leg without you," he murmured, "I shouldn't have threatened you with what I knew about Squirrelfight so you'd treat me secretly, but - I know if I came back to camp, I would've been killed. Many cats think I deserved that. Maybe they're right...but I'm not going to die," he heaved himself to his three good feet and gave the leaf-covered corpse a final respectful nod, "so, I'm sorry you had to."

With that, the burnt tom turned and limped back the way he came. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ya go- I really hope I'm keeping these guys in character. I promise, the next chapter will have something else to do with the Three.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> starts with some Jayfeather (no one else, literally just Jayfeather)
> 
> ends with some Dovepaw.
> 
> get ready for a really angsty chapter, especially that first bit

Within the blood splattered quarry of Thunderclan camp, a half-dead cat stirred back to life.

There was no one around. No one he could siphon emotions off anymore. He was as empty as his stomach. Despite how incredibly worn, wary, and damaged as he was, he still rose to his paws and numbly staggered out of what was left of the elder's den. Maybe there was still a fragment of the determined apprentice somewhere in the depths of his mind.

A few carcasses were collection flies in the center of camp. He detected how close and far they were via the relentless buzzing sound and planned his route accordingly.

 _You're hungry._ A detached voice commented. He stiffened, wondering if it was one of the two spirits he had sensed earlier. Then faltered, whiskers trembling. _That's_ my _inner voice._

_Your voice._

_My voice._

_You're - I'm - starving._

This was already becoming exhausting and he considered going back over to his den. It was comfortable, even if it wasn't warm anymore. Hadn't been warm for days. He was past the point where his body could make its own heat and everything, from his sheathed claws to his whiskers, felt chilled.

It was hard to tell where he ended and the rotting air began. On his legs, he swayed, thinking, _You can't hunt. You know that. Perhaps you should just eat cat flesh._

A feeling dawned on him: disgust. It was a natural reaction to such a thought, but after spending his entire life swarmed by the thoughts of other cats, having a simple realization to himself was...strangely amazing.

Like he was flexing a claw, he dove a little farther into that emotion, trying to make his stomach twist. _I wonder what that would even taste like. Cats have a lot of meat - muscles and guts. I'd be able to survive for weeks without leaving camp. Would a kit taste better, since they're newer? I'd probably taste old, even though I have had barely a dozen seasons._

He amused himself with the task of trying to make himself ( _himself_ ) disgusted, but eventually he got used to the idea of eating cat flesh and it didn't have the same effect. He waited a little while longer, before standing up again and finding his way out of camp, leaving the bodies completely untouched.

The feeling lingered for a little while, before slipping away as he padded off.

Marching on, deeper into the forest, he tripped a few times. When had been the last time he left camp? Probably when he was an apprentice, though he might've sprinted off in a fright once or twice. He could sense the trees, silent, invisible presences that lingers on every side of him. His side rubbed against a branch and for half a second, his loose pelt stuck to it before he shook himself free.

His legs felt heavy and useless. The air smelled of more rot, but somewhere there was a scratching in the leaves. Prey.

At least he never had to worry about the thoughts and feelings of animals. That would have been even worse than the current situation. But Starclan wasn't _that_ cruel. He turned his nose towards the promise of prey, his dry mouth pooling with saliva. There, a rich, pleasant, warm little scent dancing among the leaves and rot.

_You have to catch that._

But his body was too weak to even attempt a crouch. He tried to go down into one, but his muscles went too far. Stopping, relaxing, and leaving him splayed on the forest floor, sides laboring for breath. He heard the tiny piece of prey skittering through the leaves, before its paw steps became echos down a tunnel.

He struggled again to stand up, but it was like trying to drink from a dried puddle. Nothing, there was no energy for strength, not even enough to drag himself back to his cold nest.

There. There was another emotion all to himself. _Despair_.

He twitched. Claws sunk into the dirt as he tried to heft himself forward. 

_You're useless- no,_ I'm _useless - no, you're- I- who-_

There were birds singing up above. Bluejays or mockingbirds, probably. He imagined they were the voices of Starclan, chattering about their little curse. Whether regretfully or happily, he just couldn't tell.

In a final effort, he twisted his head upwards and parted his jaws in a wretched scream, a final cry for help before claws of exhaustion and depletion forced him back against the forest floor.

* * *

The little gray she-cat was sitting in a clearing, creating a boundary between herself and the endless roar of birds and insects that came from the trees. Branches, clicking, creaking, breaking, like the world was about to snap and cave in.

She was in the center of this clearing, her fluffy tail wrapped around her body as she rested. Never slept, only rested. The sun's rays warmed her light pelt- comforting, how the sun never made any noise and always came back to keep her company. It would've made a great friend.

Something in the branches behind her snapped, louder than twigs in a dog's mouth. In a flash she was on her paws, claws digging into the grass. Flowers and tiny clovers had stuck to her pelt. Perhaps it would've been considered cute, if one ignored the shadows drawing her face, the veins throbbing in her glassy eyes, and the dried blood cupping her head, where her ears had once been.

The stranger emerged into the clearing, her clearing, and blinked. He was a rather regal tom, with a pelt of ginger, black, and white. His chest fluffed out like a dandelion, but his frame was lithe but not starving. But that didn't matter. His well-groomed fur was dying, slowly, and she could feel little bits of its follicles losing their grip. As he started towards her, she felt the push and pull of his muscles, stringing him along, like some pompous toy.

"What happened to your ears?" He roared in a calm, polite voice.

She recoiled and clamped her paws over the wicked slits in the sides of her head. Perhaps she should've shoved mud or moss in there, maybe that would've silenced it for good.

"I won't hurt you, I promise. Tell me, what's harming you," his words echoed off the trees, _too loud too loud_ , "I'll help if I can."

Now all she could hear was the heaving of her own lungs. Her own sounds were even worse - she could anticipate them, but they struck her from the inside, ripping her apart with no escape.

"You can't," she made out in a whisper. He moved forward, bringing forth the cacophony of his muscles, organs, and pelt, and looked down, puzzled.

"I- I can hear it all," she finally whimpered, fixing him with her watery gaze. His eyes were kind, the war of noise he brought was not. He inhaled (a sound like a gale) and started to ask her something, but she cut him off.

"Each of your shuddering breaths."

His mouth closed.

"Your c-creaking tendons."

He took a step back.

Someone had to end this endless barrage of noise. Her fellow cursed cat was long gone, hunting somewhere in the forest. The burden therefore fell to her shoulders. Funny, it only weighed a feather.

She rose, her own bones clicking, clicking together. Her claws slid out like metal scraping against stone, "The warm pulse of your blood," the words were hoarse and hollow. She saw the fear in his eyes, flashing from her face, to her ears, to her claws.

"Who did this to you?" He demanded, and the sound shattered the sky.

"Starclan's gifts can be cruel," she smiled painfully, gathering strength up to pounce. "And you are all so noisy."

He whirled around and began to sprint for the safety of the trees, but he never made it that far. As soon as his mottled, calico back was visible, she sprang forward and lunged at him. Claws sank into his shoulders as her jaws came down, seeking out his neck in the mass of fluff.

She wasn't going to let this horrible noise-maker damage her any longer.

_You are all so noisy, and I need you to be quiet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone was in the mood to write angst ovo
> 
> also I'd like to say hello and thank you to Sweetfrost, creator of the 'It's Alright' map! They've been really sweet this whole time (get it?) and they liked the fanfic so <3 <3 tysm!
> 
> That last little exchange with Dovepaw and Sol might've come off as a bit out of place, but it's actually words taken directly from a comic by Razmerry (og creator of the au). I figured some homage might be in order, hope I applied it well enough. Here's the link to the thing: https://razmerry.tumblr.com/post/617575128302256128/warning-blood-bones-death-spooky-vibes-i-made
> 
> Also Dovepaw hasn't received her name yet fyi, this story takes place around 4th apprentice, so she's fairly young. Also the cat she's attacking I was trying to subtly imply was Sol. It's Sol, guys. Dovepaw is fighting Sol in the Denny's Parking lot. 
> 
> And (I know this is a long authors note) Jay is kinda switching between referring to himself in first and second person, it seemed to fit given his mental situation. This whole story is running on aesthetics and broken grammar rules. In all seriousness his chapter broke my heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollyleaf has a flashback about Leafpool, Ashfur and Dovepaw get tiny segments all to themselves, and Sol talks to someone from Windclan.

A wretched scream ripped through the forest, alerting Ashfur. He glanced up from his meal (a decently sized rat) and narrowed his eyes as a flock of crows alighted from the trees a little ways away.

_He's that close?_ Quickly the burnt tom got to his three legs and swallowed his rat, turning tail and quickly rushed for the cover of the forest. Could he smell the fresh blood?

The disjointed voice of the yowl finally dropped and the forest was silent. Ashfur waited in his hiding spot, a hollow log. He waited for a long time, before finally pulling himself out and starting off towards the pine forest. _Well he certainly killed a loud one._ _A scream like that could be heard in Windclan!_ Ashfur's mind added darkly as he slipped through a barrier of brambles. He for one wasn't going to add his own hoarse voice to the caterwaul.

* * *

The two she cats found their way in silence. Squirrelflight's ginger tail was held low and dragging in the grass while Hollyleaf's eyes were distant as she picked her way over the roots.

In a horrible sense, the black molly understood it now. The reason her brothers were so damned, simply put, was because of no fault of their own. This wretched life of theirs was a punishment for the broken code. The bringer of that curse, Leafpool, was dead anyway. Hollyleaf's chest burned with stunted anger. _Your fault, it's your fault. Foxhearted medicine cat, why did we have to be born to you?_

Part of her wondered if any of this was real. Perhaps she was locked in her mind, same as her brothers, and this was just a hallucination made by her struggling consciousness. It had to be...she was their sister, why would she be exempt from the curse?

But then she remembered the little gray kit, born from Whitewing and Birchfall. It seemed that someone _else_ had received her third of punishment. Dovekit, with her soft fur, her still-blue eyes, and her sobs that wracked the camp.

As she climbed over a mushroom-coated log, Hollyleaf's mind drifted to that time seasons ago, and to the old medicine den.

_"You feel her pain, don't you?" Hollyleaf had asked, her tail tucked around her legs as she surveyed the shivering, tabby body. Her brother turned towards her with wet, unseeing eyes. He was curled together so tightly, his rigid silver pelt almost resembled one of those metal fox traps._

_There was a small nod and he buried his face in the moss as another loud, desperate mew broke through camp. Kittens were born blind and deaf. She was barely a quarter moon old and already..._

_Hollyleaf set a paw down on between the tight shoulder blades of her brother. She tried to pull him away mentally, to recollect something happy, or funny, or at least mildly pleasant, but every part of her instincts prevented that. 'No. There's a kit crying. The only thing you are allowed to feel is pity and stress.' It reminded her. Instincts didn't care for context._

_Deep down she wanted the kit to go away. Someone to put it out of its misery. It would be dead anyway, and the pain it was causing her already-troubled brother was too much. She didn't want to see him suffering...but at the same time, if that's what she wished, she might as well go blind._

_"Can I give him poppy seeds?" She had asked a figure in the back of the medicine den._

_"I'm sorry, but you can't. They have no effect on him." The figure turned around, worry in her amber eyes. And, Hollyleaf realized it was Leadpool. Of course it was Leafpool, the medicine cat. She was always there, tending to the distressed, bloodied, and cursed._

Hollyleaf blinked a few times and sat back on her haunches. Squirrelflight caught up to her, nodding towards the knoll of fresh dirt.

"Is this it?"

"Oh- yes," she stood up, shaking her dark pelt. She would deal with these feelings later, she decided. Now it was time to dig.

* * *

The torturous whispers of the forest crept up on her, but Dovepaw was too preoccupied in the moment. Her sides heaved, her pupils dilated, and something dripped from her jaws. Between her soft, gray paws was tortoiseshell fur and blood. She could still remember his cries as she sank her claws into his back - traumatic, terribly loud noises.

But that didn't matter.

The noises of the forest engulfed her, but for once in her life, Dovepaw felt like she could stand against it. Like she could weather the storm. The pieces of pelt in her claws anchored her to the forest floor and she lifted up her chin in defiance.

What she had done was _something_ to remove the noise. With an almost delirious feeling she remembered how silent Thunderclan had been after that lion began his massacre. She was in no way as strong as him...but maybe it didn't matter. She had made the screaming stop.

And she could do it again.

* * *

Dovepaw's victim crashed through the branches, his heart practically clamped between his jaws. What was that? The darkness in that she's eyes was like nothing he'd ever seen. There as nothing to talk to, nothing to bargain with, just glassy, resolved, insanity? Was that the right word?

He stopped at a small stream, panting. He was a slim cat without much muscle mass and the race away from her had left him winded. Heavily he fell down beside it and started gulp down some water.

Hm. Tasted metallic. He leaned back and squinted into the shiny surface. At least it looked clear enough.

He would've gone back to drinking if he hadn't noticed the shadow across the river.

"Hm?" He lifted himself up to his full height and licked his muzzle, clearing the droplets of water from his whiskers, "Are you here to chase me off your border, little warrior?"

The other cat was poised across the stream. A young adult, though not particularly filled out. Perhaps that was from his Windclan blood, since if the tom recalled correctly, that was the territory he was standing in. His pelt was completely black, scarred, and he bore amber eyes that blazed with fiery hate. For a second the first tom thought he was beyond reason too, but there was no madness to his fierce gaze. Just a front of rage. "You're the cat who messed with Shadowclan," he snarled through barred teeth.

"You heard of me?" The tortoiseshell tom tilted his head.

"Yes, and I have every right to leap over this stream and break your neck."

"My name is Sol, by the way," the tom just said idly, though he was already gathering his strength to run again. "And I wouldn't do that. Thunderclan is being haunted by -"

"Lionpaw, I know," the lithe tom barked and his hatred seized.

"Then you should know he has wiped out all of Thunderclan," Sol said with a flick of his long, plumed tail, "This border doesn't exist any more. It's all yours if you want it,"

The dark tom narrowed his eyes, but he didn't move from his post at the waters edge.

Sol slowly got to his feet and flicked an ear, "Be careful," were his parting words as he padded off, up the hill.

"I hope you're his next victim," the dark tom snarled after him, but he didn't give chase. Only glared at the back of the retreating loner. Once Sol's brindled pelt had vanished through a screen of brambles, the dark tom hissed a sigh. Then turned and craned his neck to rip a cobweb off a discarded log.

Bundling it up in his jaws, he turned and limped back in the direction of Windclan camp, keeping a wary eye out for a flash of golden fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO THAT ANGRY BOY IS!
> 
> Heya I also made a discord server! Mainly for myself, so I could keep all of the interesting things I discovered about this AU. Also art. Also polls because I'm indecisive. Here's the link--> https://discord.gg/kaXRMU96


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollyleaf and Squirrelflight find a cavern.
> 
> Ashfur finds a...friend.

Only when the tunnels shifted from moist packed soil to ice-cold stone did Hollyleaf begin to feel safe. There was no doubt that her brother would still be able to carve his way in if so possessed to but...with the walls hugging her sides and the cool-darkness stretching in front of her, Hollyleaf figured she might as well be in a whole other world than he was. Like she had somehow found her way into Starclan or somewhere darker.

She pushed her way through the choke-tight tunnel and soon found herself in a lightless expanse. Somewhere, water rushed in a dark river and little drops fell from the ceiling. One of those drops hit her on the nose and she had the brief panic of _'what if the roof is falling on me?'_ before logic took hold. 

This was a chamber, deep below the earth. It was cold and the stone was hard under her paw pads, but they would be safe here.

_Ivypaw will find us. There's not many other scents to clutter these tunnels. We'll wait for her._ Hollyleaf reasoned with little doubt. Funny, she wasn't too scared of being trapped in here again. Perhaps, she figured (hoped) Starclan would intervene, just like they had before.

The scrabbling sound of Squirrelflight forcing her way out of the tunnel and into the open snapped Hollyleaf back.

"Are you stuck?" She whirled around, squinting in the dark. Her pupils were as large as moons, but she couldn't make out any light source. _This is how Jaypaw feels-_

The claws against stone screamed, then with a sudden huff, four sets of paw pads skittered on the ground. "Not anymore. You're slighter than I am," Squirrelflight replied, shaking her pelt out.

_Even though I'm taller-_ Hollyleaf began to inspect the rest of the cave. She brushed against the walls, finding numerous small cavities, as well as a few jutting rocks twice as tall as she was.

There was a small splash behind her.

"Found the river. Hey, I think there's fish in it!" Squirrelflight announced. There was another loud splash, irking Hollyleaf to turn around.

"You better not fall in-"

Squirrelflight dropped something on the ground. It made a loud, wet, slapping noise against the hard stone and squirmed around for a few beats before she finished it off.

The scent of fresh kill (however slimy it was) made Hollyleaf's mouth pool with saliva. She swallowed quickly. When was the last time she ate? It might have been days...the time she spent wandering around the territory, hunger had been the last of her priorities. 

"We can share if you want, while we wait for Ivypaw."

Earlier, Hollyleaf would have felt repulsed by the notion of sharing _anything_ with the cat who lied to her, but she agreed now, taking up half the fish. It tasted about as disgusting as she expected, like biting into a smooth, cold slug, but she could not deny the strength it brought her.

She settled her chin on her dark paws, giving a long, wary sigh.

_We're moving forward. The camp may be in ruins but we have a safe place to hide and a food source, not to mention two clanmates I found. There has to be more. There must be._

 _Starclan_ hasn't _abandoned us._ She repeated that thought, repeated it until it felt almost believable.

* * *

_Foxdung, foxdung, foxdung._

Ashfur had just reached the thunderpath dividing Shadowclan and Thunderclan territories but he knew he wasn't going to cross it. He wanted to, but something else seemed to seize his paws and drag him in the opposite direction, back where he came. Like the reasonable warrior was being towed by a different, more primal force.

This wasn't the first time it happened.

"I should stay in the Abandoned Twoleg Place and make sure everyone is okay," the logical side of him had said, when the forest was up in flames and the rain was beating the broken windows.

"Squirrelflight and her kits aren't back yet. Go _check_ on them." The primal side had hissed. And so he found himself pelting through the storm, his heart aching as he thought of the ginger she-cat - then filling with a mad kind of excitement when he imagined the pain she must be in...or the pain she _would_ be in...

He knew the side well. Accepted it, even.

But now that primal force was leading him through the rot-stench, back towards Thunderclan camp. Or rather, towards the place of that _screech_ he heard earlier.

_I don't want to die._ He frowned, scanning the surroundings for signs of Lionpaw. A bit of golden fur caught on the thorn bushes, or perhaps a new corpse, maybe a pawprint that struck the ground like a monster's track. However, he didn't see any.

His primal side murmured, _Think about it. Maybe they aren't dead yet. It could be Ferncloud or one of her many brats. Maybe it's her mate Dustpelt. Remember, your old mentor?_ His mind flashed back to his apprenticeship and he shook his patchy fur. _Or it could be your own apprentice, Birchfall. Or one of your friends, like Spiderleg and Thornclaw!_

He forced himself to sit down, to combat impulse with logic. He'd failed this battle before, and it cost him his leg. _Do I really want to die like this? Running after some false hope?_

_..._

_That better not be a yes._

Ashfur sighed and gazed down at himself.

If Squirrelflight's rejection was his heart wrenched from his ribcage, with blood pouring down over the stones, then the destruction of the clan was a wild fire. He was scorched, burnt to the point where his pain felt distant. But there was a hollow loneliness to it, like a dead tree husk after the blaze had died down. No more blood left to bleed. He was empty.

He licked one of the rough burn spots, where his fur had once been.

_No helping it now._

_Fox dung, fox dung, fox dung..._

He rose to his paws and started back down the woodland path, ears perked for signs of danger.

Miraculously Ashfur made it all the way to where he had been when he first heard the horrible yell. After taking a moment to reorient himself, he started down the new path. His mouth was open, trying to pick up the scent of death.

There was rot, sure. And the slight tang of prey. He shouldn't be surprised about either, the two actually seemed to go together (he'd seen a family of voles eating a dead tabby, as well as a crow flying off with a bloody gray limb).

But, as he nosed his way between two ferns, he finally picked up on the scent of a real, living Thunderclan cat.

_Maybe I was right!_

The body swiftly came into view. There was no effort put into hiding it - just a little gray tabby flopped over the roots of an oak tree, ribcage struggling with every breath.

Ashfur halted, whiskers quivering.

It was the cat who wasn't Squirrelflight's son.

The apprentice that would never become a warrior.

The elder that, he believed, was little more than a trembling, whimpering corpse.

There was a name for Jaypaw, aside from his apprentice title. There was no ceremony for it. Firestar never called him it, neither had his fake parents or his siblings, but it was whispered throughout the clan.

"...Jaycry." Ashfur's chest tightened with disappointment.

Those unseeing eyes were like mirrors. Between the throbbing purple and red veins, Ashfur recognized himself, standing there, with uncertainty written across his face.

_What now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so slow. I wasn't really feeling like writing, but I figured I better get the boring parts done so I can get to the really good parts.
> 
> BTW ashfur is not being characterized as having split personality disorder. I was thinking those two thoughts streams were the 'Id' and the 'Super-Ego' hashing it out. The Id is the part of the brain that's exceptionally animalistic, driven only by impulse. The Super-Ego is the concept of how you should behave according to society. Like, if you got the impulse to eat candy off the ground, that would be the Id, but the Super-Ego would make you not do that (or at least not while people are looking). Look it up, it's very interesting.
> 
> also Hollyleaf is tall and lanky thanks to Crowfeather dna, while Squirrelflight is a short buff bby. I do not take constructive critisicm.
> 
> Ask me for the link to the discord!! We have one! I make art there sometimes!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breezepelt being awful for half the chapter.
> 
> Ashfur and Jay in the latter half.

Breezepelt nosed his way between the tangle of brambles, his package of cobwebs kept carefully under his tongue. The inside of the abandoned badger sett was dark and cool and smelled faintly of sand, at least, under the reek of old blood. There were five cats huddled around it- the few remains of Windclan.

The wizened gray elder Webfoot was offering a mouthful of dirty, damp moss to their medicine cat, Kestrelflight. The gray and white tom accepted it gratefully and shuffled forward, one of his legs bent at a bad angle. The real splintering of it was hidden under a poultice of moss and grass, but still, it was a wonder he was still conscious. Breezepelt felt himself frown - the weak, fragile medicine cat wouldn't have been able to hunt on a good day, but now that he was maimed? Practically useless.

The apprentice Whiskerpaw sat in the corner, trembling like a kit, as the scrawny molly Whitetail tried to smooth back his ruffled fur with long, comforting laps. Really, the two of them would be helpless if something (even an old badger) attacked their 'camp.' He turned his head in disgust, his eyes finally settling on the last shape in the room.

A tabby tom with distant eyes was crumpled in an unnatural way at the farthest end of the sett. _So this is our grand leader?_ Breezepelt felt his heart twist at the sight of Onestar.

"He lost a life, but it stopped most of his bleeding," Kestrelflight dragged himself over and pointed a soft gray paw at a deep strike pushed into Onestar's back, warping his frame and crushing his spine.

"Will he be able to run again?" Breezepelt narrowed his eyes, keeping down a wave of nausea at the sight of the matted, bloody fur.

Kestrelflight sighed. "Honestly, I'm not even sure he'll survive until moonrise. He's lost _two_ already. He's in the paws of-"

"Don't give me that foxdung. You're the medicine cat, you're supposed to do something and you've failed _twice_!" The black tom hissed, rounding on Kestrelflight. The silvery cat's eyes flashed in alarm as Breezepelt spat a wad of cobwebs at his feet. "Since that monster showed up in camp, you haven't been able to save anyone. Not Sedgewhisker, not Boulderpaw, not _Nightcloud_ \- I'm beginning to think _you're_ the cursed one here!"

Kestrelflight stared in horror, before his eyes clouded with sadness and he dropped his head, "I'm so sorry...I should've done better. It _is_ my fault."

Webfoot moved between them- like a scrawny elder would be able to protect Kestrelflight from Breezepelt - and shook his head.

The black tom hissed, "Useless."

On the other side of the set Whiskerpaw began to whimper again. Breezepelt was about to turn around and snap at him to shut his mouth when something else rustled through the reeds. All of the cats (even Onestar) stiffened.

Thankfully, only a white and brown tom staggered through. He dropped a dead rabbit at their paws and looked up with fearful hazel eyes.

"What." Breezepelt barked. "Did you see him, Harespring?"

The white and brown tom shook his head, his expression tight, "Ashfoot and I were hunting and - she didn't meet up where we were supposed to. I think something happened to her!"

A growl sounded in the back of Breezepelt's throat, "I can't believe that mouse-brain is our deputy."

"Someone needs to get her," Whiskerpaw murmured between sniffles. The two toms rounded on him.

"I'll go," Whitetail stood up, giving him one final lick between the ears.

"And so will I. Better than rotting in a hole with you cats," Breezepelt forced his way ahead of her, moving past Harespring and back into the blinding sunlight and bleeding moor. For a second, he thought he heard one of the mouse-brains behind him whisper, "be careful," but if they did, he didn't both to acknowledge it.

* * *

Even though he could move, even though he could run, even though he wasn’t the one curled up on the forest floor like a newborn kit, Ashfur felt almost pinned in place by those hollow eyes.

“How are you alive?” Ashfur asked in a low voice.

Jaycry was silent for a few minutes. Ashfur wondered if he could actually speak, if he had ever learned. Then with a pitifully long, tortured sigh, the gray tabby made out the faint whisper, “I’m dying.”

His dark blue eyes flitting over the crumpled body, Ashfur felt himself nod, “I can tell.”

Part of him felt a pang of disappointment. Had he really been hoping to find Spiderleg or Ferncloud or Thornclaw, healthy and alive and ready to forgive/run away with him? He had been a mouse-brain, that was for sure. And now, here was this cat, if Jaycry even counted as a cat. He was more of a tired curse, carrying around a corpse that was vaguely feline-shaped. Didn't he hate Jaycry for being associated with Squirrelflight, his lost love? Honestly, it was hard to muster up hate for such a cat as the one sprawled in front of him.

Cursed little jay.

_I don't hate you. You're just a bystander. You've always been that._

As his mind wandered, Ashfur noticed Jaycry’s gaze cloud. His tail twitched slightly in an arc, bent like it would’ve been curled around himself, if he had the strength to do that.

“You know what I just thought, right? That’s creepy. You’re creepy, but at least you’re not your brother,” Ashfur said with a twitch of his ear. The disappointment faded out into a familiar, smoky emptiness, like there was a hard-to-describe feeling there, but it was to faint to be distinguishable. He wondered if Jaycry would understand it, what with his freakish nature. He probably did, if Leafpool's ramblings were correct.

He turned to pad off the way he came, half wondering why he even bothered to walk all the way back here. The primal urge was gone, leaving him logically upset. The sun had set now, casting the sky in brilliant orange hues. A last hurrah before darkness. He should’ve been curled up in a makeshift nest of pine needles by now.

Then something stopped him.

Like a pendulum, his burnt tail waved from side to side as he tried to decide what to do. Something just felt unresolved...he still had a little time before total darkness, and even then he could see fairly well at night. So, Ashfur turned around.

“Do you have any will of your own?”

The curse’s drooping ears perked with fading attentiveness, “when things are quiet, I think I do.” His hushed voice murmured. It sounded like the wind through ferns, or a trickling stream at midnight. How he had managed to summon that wretched scream was beyond Ashfur.

The burnt tom turned to go again, not sure what the point of that exchange was, “Well enjoy your quiet.” He said.

“I’ll enjoy my slow starvation-death as well.”

Ashfur froze, nose already leading him into a bramble. Okay, that was fair, the curse had nothing to live for. Starclan would be a release from the cruelty of the world. Yet, there was something about the tilt in his tone…

“I didn’t think you were capable of sarcasm.”

“I won’t be for much longer."

He was still laying there, a kind of resigned look crossing his face. Ashfur stared at him for a few beats.

In camp, he had been a mess of agitated rambling, disconcerted mumbles, and the occasional scream, finally crescendoing into all out crying, yowling, thrashing around in agony once cats started to drop dead. Even before that, he had been an odd kit. Blind, but always seemed to be staring _through_ his clanmates. But now, limply stretched over the knobby roots, there was something almost normal about the way he sounded.

Not mad or insane or broken, just...tired.

Ashfur shifted his weight, his chest growing heavy, like someone had set stones along the crib of his ribcage.

"I know what you're going to do." Jaypaw said softly.

Ashfur tilted his head. _He_ didn't know what he was going to do. He was just standing there, overcome with his own mind, while Jaypaw soaked it all in. "What?"

"I'll be here when you do. I'm not gone yet," his glazed eyes clouded, then he shut them. Without his bulging, blood-shot stare, his face looked even more ordinary. He could be anyone's kit. Ferncloud's even. Yeah, he had the right markings.

Cursing, Ashfur felt himself being drawn to the bushes. Of course, like a spider pulling at its web, he felt his mind begin to unravel and finally reveal him where he was going and what he was going to do once he got there.

As he recalled, when he first came around here, he killed two rats. Ate one, buried the other beneath a mossy oak sapling for later.

Now he was limping off, pin-pointing the exact spot of the hidden fresh-kill.

_Pitiful useless odd little apprentice. I swear I should've just put you out of your misery instead of this- augh._ His mind grumbled as he haphazardly unburied the prey while trying to stay upright on three paws.

This wasn't about Squirrelflight. No, this cat was simply not her kit so how could she be involved? He knew that much, so he brushed her relations with him aside. 

It wasn't about the good of 'restoring' Thunderclan either - what use even was Jaypaw? 

As he limped back to the ring of bushes were Jaycry was resting, dirty rat hanging from his jaws, he resolved he was being guided by a purely selfish desire for someone else to talk to, someone who, in a way, was as hollow as he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think offering a half-dead nun food should be grounds for them to become your therapist smh but you do you ashfur. at least I don't have to kill off one of my favorite characters now.
> 
> come check out the discord. Comment for a link and you'll be welcomed in! I do art there sometimes.


End file.
